The Shadow Wife
by TM10
Summary: What happened to Mitch in Kosovo? A stranger comes to San Francisco, bringing drama and angst. Original character one-shot. (Sorry, no A&N.)


~The Shadow Wife~

Standard disclaimer: I don't own Monk.

Notes: ~~~Angst Alert~~~ I've been attempting to write A&N's honeymoon story but, sigh, instead of sun surf and sex, this dark story demanded to be written first. Only a one-shot, this may become a full story in the future.

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Standing on the front porch, I'm still in a daze, trying to get my bearings. It had been a terrible, ungodly month: her death, so unexpected and unreal, then, after the tears and sadness turned to an unrelenting anger, the sudden obsession over moving away. The isolated farm in the mountains, my one safe place in the world, had turned on me and I had to escape. Around every corner were too many painful memories. Of my daughter, Sabin. And of him…her father.

Fitfully pulling the house apart, frantically packing for my move, that's when I found it. The letter. The envelope was sealed, bearing his handwriting_: 'For Natalie' _

How I made the decision to fly from Kosovo to San Francisco, I don't know. But here I am. Its eight o'clock on a Sunday night and the lights are on inside. I'm on her doorstep, my hand poised to rap on the door. It's such a pretty house, well taken care of and obviously loved; for the first time in days I'm unsure.

Yes I know I could have just mailed the letter; after all, it was extremely easy finding her address. A simple search on the computer and bam, there it was, Natalie Teeger, San Francisco, USA. ….She doesn't need to see me; she doesn't even know I exist. And what will I be to her? The bearer of painful memories? A fresh stab in the heart? Or would she be grateful to know the truth? I can't imagine; I don't know what's inside his letter. But he **did** write to her, so…

Screwing up my courage, I rap on the door, heart galloping. The sound echoed through the house and, after what seems likes days waiting, I realize the house is empty. No one home. How is that possible? Maybe it's a sign, maybe I should just leave… I could just shove the letter under the front door and disappear.

I _could - _but I won't. First I must give into my curiosity. I peek in the window. Although the curtains are drawn, I can see a sliver of her life. It's pretty in there, spotlessly clean, lots of happy colors….And then I see it on the shelf- the American flag in the triangular frame. I know what that means; you don't come from a war-torn country without recognizing a fallen soldier's commendation.

Now I know I can't leave. I grab my small suitcase and go around the back of the house. The back door is locked tight but, seeing the bathroom window, I know I can break in. And so I do.

Even though I know the house is empty, I call out a greeting. I can hear the ghosts of the house scurrying through the rooms, but of course my hello remains unanswered. Setting my suitcase on the kitchen floor, I'm immediately drawn into the living room, to Mitchell's flag. His picture is here; he's young and handsome, a different man than the one I found wandering my farm's fallow field. Bloodied and burned, I hid him from the soldiers and nursed him back to health. But even after he healed, he never had the glow he has in this photo, in his bright white uniform.

Moving to the fireplace mantle, I see dozens of pictures. I naturally seek out the ones with Mitchell; here he is, with _her_- Natalie- and in another picture, he is holding his tiny daughter. Or I should say, his _first _daughter, the American child who's grown up strong and beautiful.

I force myself to look at the other pictures- Natalie is a lovely woman, it's easy to see why she captured Mitchell's heart. And I see there's a new man in Natalie's life. I pick up his photo and study his face. Though he has dark good looks, I feel a disturbance. He carries a sadness in his gentle eyes. I sense a deep connection between the two- perhaps Natalie saved him just as I saved Mitchell.

Turning to scan the room, I see an appointment book lying open by the phone. Today's date contains one bold notation- 'WEDDING!' The rest of the week is filled with 'xoxo's' and the word 'HONEYMOON!' Is she the one getting married? Is it her daughter's wedding?

Passing by the dining room table, a photo album beckons. I open it up and see a newspaper clipping on the first page. **Natalie Teeger and Adrian Monk are pleased to announce their marriage**…So it is her wedding and that's his name, the new man. I pause, realizing that if I had only arrived twelve hours earlier, I would have found them here getting ready for their big day…Fate surely was on their side today….

Reading the rest of the announcement, I discover he's a widower; a shared common sadness. I'm once again unsure of my actions. Will my visit bring them closer together or will it upset a delicate balance? Will this ghost from Mitchell's past cause a rift in their new union? I don't want that, after all, I'm not their enemy. I'm just an unseen shadow, from another world.

Looking at the pictures on the walls, I jump when the living room lights goes out. Heart hammering in my chest, it takes me a minute to realize that, since they are off on their honeymoon, the lights are on security timers. Now with only a nightlight illuminating the room, I wonder what I should do. As if the house is guiding me, I see lights click on upstairs. My feet are drawn up the stairs.

The first room I stop in is tiny, a small guest room. With pale green walls and white trim, it's calming, peaceful. There's a single bed and baby's crib in the corner. I sit in the rocking chair and, pulling a teddy bear onto my lap, I feel it- a shimmering. This room is excited, the bassinet eager. For once I'm glad I have these intuitions, what my granny Mejra called, 'the sight'. It's been a long time since I've been engulfed by such complete love and happiness. And though it's tempting to stay here all night, I hear ghostly footprints padding down the hallway; I'm compelled to get up and explore.

The next room steals my breath- its Julie's room. Though it's still filled with trophies and stuffed animals, by the photo's taped to the mirror, I see she's grown up beautiful, her father's daughter. When Mitchell spoke of her, his little princess, there was always the threat of tears. But even after the splintered bones knit together and the burns healed, for reasons he couldn't express, he never mentioned returning to his family or his country. With his flesh twisted with scars and his vision partially lost, did he think himself ugly and useless? I dared not ask.

So he stayed with me at my isolated farm in Kosovo, silent and stoic, just watching me from a distance. Then with the spring flowers came the small talk, in the kitchen as I prepared meals and on the back porch as we watched the sun set. Finally one day he rolled up his sleeves and helped me out in the garden. That night, instead of hiding in his sickbed in the attic, he came to my bed. That first night wasn't when our daughter Sabin was conceived, but it was soon after. Every night thereafter he came to me and, when we discovered I was with child, I felt a bit of happiness grow in his heart. But we never spoke of the future; we lived in a timeless bubble, a simple day-to-day life.

Looking around this room, I knew Mitchell had fretted for naught. Despite the hardship of losing her father, Julie had had a good childhood. And she had grown to be an accomplished young woman, unlike Sabin, his second daughter. Next month she would have been eight years old- if she hadn't died in that senseless accident….

I can't breathe, knowing Sabin died because of me, my inattention. Even though I reminded her it was dangerous, to stay away from the old well, why didn't I take the time to fix the well cover? Chasing that rabbit through the field, lost in her excitement, Sabin forgetting to watch her step. After her fall, never regaining consciousness…. I bolt from Julie's room, tears hot on my cheeks.

I find myself standing in the doorway of the last bedroom. I immediately perceive Natalie and Adrian's energies; the laughter and love, the murmured words as they shared their plans and dreams, the conspiratorial chuckles that fail to muffle the soft squeaks of the mattress, and something else- an indescribable presence that's both miniscule and immense….Crossing the threshold, I wipe my tears.

Although there are a plethora of things calling out for attention, I'm inexplicably drawn to the foot of the bed. I immediately notice that, atop the matching nightstands, sits the exact same photograph. A candid picture of Natalie, Julie and a Santa-hat wearing Adrian, I'm certain it marks the start when these three truly became a family.

I don't want to pry spy but my hands have a mind of their own. Opening the nightstand I somehow know is Adrian's, I find a gleaming cherry-wood box, a treasure chest of memories. Gingerly sitting on the bed, I lift the box's lid and let Adrian's past surround me.

Although all these photos and keepsakes are meaningful, some purposefully jump into my hand: a stack of Post-It notes from Natalie- giving him much needed encouragement… a handmade medal of valor- his most cherished commendation, crafted by Julie… a heartfelt goodbye letter from Benji, carefully preserved in an evidence bag… a police academy portrait- steeped with honor and pride…photos of his father and brothers- loved but rife of complications….a picture of his first wife- much loved and painfully lost…And at the very bottom of the box, I uncovered a dark square. A ring box. Touching the velvet, I hear a whisper, '_Be Happy._' I realized this box contains Adrian's wedding band from his first marriage- opening it would be too much an intrusion. Putting the keepsakes back in their rightful order, I return the memento box to the nightstand and sit quietly, waiting for the room to guide me.

It isn't long before a rustling beckons from across the room. Atop the bureau, Natalie's jewelry box hums and buzzes. A beehive of memories and emotions, I'm afraid to open it…but my hands have a will of their own.

The top drawers overflow with jewels and trinkets, bespeaking of happy birthdays and joyful celebrations. Although I'm tempted to touch these gems and hear their stories, I know the real treasure lies hidden in the bottom compartment: various pictures and cards, a ticket stub for 'Lend Me a Tenor', Julie's first baby tooth and a lock of hair- all radiating warmth and happiness and a buzz of energy. Underneath these mementos I discover a carefully folded newspaper clipping. The happy clattering stops while I unfold the brittle paper.

The headline: **Navy Plane Crashes in Kosovo; Pilot Presumed Dead.**

I slump on the bed, my hands shaking. Although I know the crash did not claim Mitchell Teeger's life, I cringe as I read, reflexively murmuring 'no, that's not what happened.'…By the time I finish, my head is pounding.

Is it better to let Mitchell's family believe this or would they want the truth? Would they want to know that he survived the fiery accident and went on to live four more precious years? That he fathered another daughter? That after his initial plague of nightmares, when he'd trash and murmur '_Steven' and 'traitor_', he eventually calmed and found sleep so deep and tranquil? Would they want to know he eventually found bits of joy and laughter in a far-off foreign land? And last but not least, should I rob them of their image of his 'honorable death'? Would they want to know the inglorious truth- that when I was running errands in town one Tuesday, Mitchell died from a simple aneurysm, peacefully, his two year old daughter curled at his side? In the end, does it matter- dead is dead, right? …Too many questions buzz around me…

Returning the newspaper clipping to the jewelry box, I give in to my weariness and lay on the bed. I let my eyes close and, after what seems like eons, the lights click off. I would take it as a sign, but I remember the lights are on timers…I turn on my side and I see the digital clock glows 10:10. Tugging the chain from under my collar, I hold Mitchell's dog-tags in my hand. Rubbing my thumb across the raised letters, I have six days to figure out what to do.

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A/N: Hopefully this story's purged the drama demons, wish me luck with the honeymoon story.


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